


Dollhouse

by genderfluidmulan



Category: The Boy (2016)
Genre: ?????, American Writer, Bad Grammar and Spelling, Brother/Brother Incest, Character Death(s), F/M, Finny as Ben Whishaw fucking fight me, I don't know how airports work, I made up a lot of stuff because I've forgotten bits of the movie, Incest, M/M, Mental Illnesses, Not Brit Picked, Physical and emotional abuse, Sleepy/Unconscious Sex, Smarter!Brahms, Therapy, and you in the very back, backstories, everyone gets a backstory, lol Greta literally ran away, more to tag later, past infant death, undiagnosed mental illnesses, unhealthy coping habits, you get a backstory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:43:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6338935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genderfluidmulan/pseuds/genderfluidmulan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’ll stay? <em>Forever</em>?”</p><p>And being a child just of four, Finley doesn't understand the exact ramifications Brahms expects but the youngest Heelshire child promises happily nonetheless.</p><p>“Yes. Forever.”</p><p>-<br/>-</p><p>Or the one where Brahms has a brother, is smarter and everyone gets a backstory because fucking fight me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Happy Birthday, Brahmsy

**Author's Note:**

> Lord help me but that movie has absorbed me entirely and I am helpless trash
> 
>  
> 
> /// 
> 
>  
> 
> also the incest part is NOT permanent, it's gonna be resolved;;;;

_1997_

 

Brahms never liked being in the company of other children, he's known since he was very young that he was strange. He finds other children boring and annoying, animals much more so.He’s heard enough of what his family's servants and caretakers whisper about him. 

_Such a strange little fellow._

_Who doesn't like dogs?_

_You don't suppose he's...ill, in the head, don't you?_

He knows he isn't one to be invited to other birthday parties and get-togethers. It doesn't bother him in all honesty. He’s content playing by himself or with his baby brother, Finley, who's just shy of turning 5 in April. He loves Finny more than anything, but he can't figure out for the life of him why Finny’s so friendly, so desperate to have friends other than him. So he can't help but the hate the little girl that comes around often to play with his brother. He’s jealous and today, on his own 8th birthday, is no exception.

He seethes silently throughout the mundane and highly annoying singing tradition of Happy Birthday, candles lit onto onto glazed, boring birthday cake and presents presented by even more annoying guests as the little girl continually chatters and chatters. Her sticky fingers drag along the white crisp fabric of Finny’s formal attire and he can barely contain the urge to smash one of mummy’s fine dinner plates over her head. But he had promised mummy earlier. _No funny business._ He had to be good. A good son and a good big brother. But it was so hard. Finny was _his_. Not her’s. 

He swallowed down his birthday cake with a scornful face, his eyes never wavering away from his brother and his “friend”. 

He had notice the little girl’s habit of tugging wildly on her playmate’s arm in hopes of regaining their attention. 

“Fin _ley_ ,” the little girl monster said. (Brahms scowled heavily over the pronunciation of his brother's name. Hadn't her parents taught her how to speak properly? Honestly…) “Let's go play. This is _boring_.”

Finley looked over to the girl with a happy, eager smile. “Okay. Let me go get Brahms!”

“ _No!_ ” The little girl hissed. “He can't play with us.” She dropped her voice down to a whisper (but actually didn't lower her voice at all so Brahms could hear anything anyway, nearby adults were far too consumed in his father’s good liquor to be paying any attention) and said, “He's weird. I don't like him.”

Finley’s happy little face morphed into sadness and he looked away from the little girl. “You don't like my brother?” He asked sadly.

“He’s just mean. He always pulls on my pigtails and tells me go away. Once he kicked me in my back.”

“But..” Finley said with uncertainty, Brahms felt a twinge of hurt resonate within his chest, the youngest Heelshire child was at a loss of words to say on the behalf of his older brother.

“C’mon!” She insisted with an aggressive growl. “He’s going to be busy with his new toys anyway..”

Brahms could see his brother’s resolve slowly crumbling. Within minutes of Finley finishing up his portion of birthday cake he left to play, the little girl leading the way outside to the backyard. Brahms was stuck at the dining room table, surrounded by friends and business partners of his parents and had to suffer through pathetic congratulations and irritating _Brahms, dear you've gotten so big and There's the birthday boy!_ He had smiled though, thanked them all politely as best as he could before dashing off 

( “Good lord, he seems unusually energetic today doesn't he?” One of father's fat guests chuckled.

“Quite..” His father said in agreement, he looked curious for a moment before returning to his brandy. He had more important things to do than focus on his oldest child’s oddities. )

after his younger brother. 

He didn't have to search for them long. Finley’s shrilly cries lead Brahms farther out into the wooded area just behind their house. Twenty paces in and he finds them in a cluster of pines, in each other faces screaming hoarsely. Finley’s face is streaked with tears and ruddy as the little girl greatly resembles a round faced tomato herself. Seeing her yelling at his brother, thrusting her chubby little fists in Finny’s direction unleashes fury deep within Brahms. He strides forward quickly and pushes the little brat over, her frumpy dress fanning out beneath her. 

“Brahms, don't be mean!” Finny had shrieked, pulling insistently on his older brother’s.

 _Mean._ Had the brat already filled his brother's mind with poison? Had whispered evil untrue things? 

“You're a freak! And you're gonna be a freak a too!” She struggled to stand up in her mess of a dress and Brahms eyed the rocks on the ground just beside her. It would be quick. _Easy_. He would take the rock, feel the solid weight of his hand and bring it down forward to hear a satisfying crunch and the pest would've been taken care of. It’s be him and his little brother again. Like it's suppose to be.

“Everyone hates him and now they're gonna hate you too! You stupid, stupid boy!”

Finny cries, his chubby hands concealing his face and everyone else from seeing him. Brahms feels the familiar whisper of voices calling out to him again, hissing delightful things into his ears as the little girl shrieks on and on.

_He wouldn't see._

_He’s distracted._

_Quick. Before an adult or someone else comes._

_She did this. Drove a wedge between you and your brother. And now she’s hurting him._

 

If there's one thing Brahms has ever learned from his father it's to get even. He’s heard enough of the old man’s pub brawls with other men to know what he has to do. 

Besides, he's only protecting his brother after all.

 _Goooooooooood_. The voices whisper, amusement dripping from their words. _Good boy, Brahms_.

“I'm going to tell on you, you fre--”

Only his little brother hears rather than sees, squealing in fright at the sound of his little friend’s skull crushes underneath the force of the rock, the sound of her voice stops and he finally feels like he can _breath_ again. Brahms makes Finny look away from the dead body after he’s done and makes them go back inside to the party. He wants to savor the feeling feeling of warm blood on his hands, to forever remember the dying breath of the little she-devil but he needs to get rid of the evidence. Thankfully, all the adults are too busy gossiping to notice have notice them missing and no one spares them a passing glance glance as they dart down a hallway. 

As soon as they're in the safety of their room -- they shared pretty much everything -- Brahms pulled his brother into their bathroom and proceeded to strip his brother and himself of their dirty clothes. Finny cried noiselessly and shuddered against Brahms’s chest as his brother cleaned him. The warm water filled the tub and by the time they're scrubbed thoroughly the water is tinged the color of rust.

“Why did you hurt her, Brahmsy? She’s my friend.” His brother asked in a soft voice as Brahms pulled the tub’s plug out. The water drained noisily and his younger brother hide himself away from Brahms’s gaze by hiding behind his wet curling bangs.

Brahms doesn't bother to correct his younger brother’s tenses but remains silent as he picks the leaves and needles from Finny’s dark curls. They resemble one another greatly. They're both pale, share the same angular cheekbones but different hair color. Finley’s hair is dark and curly, positively angelic. Brahms's own hair is a dark blond that mummy swears gets darker every year. The only other thing that separates them is the color of their eyes. Finny’s eyes are a pale green, earthy and kind while Brahms’s eyes are a typical, ordinary brown color. 

“She's not your _friend_ ,” Brahms tells him sternly, his rakes his fingers through Finny’s dark curls and grimaces. “What were you even doing out there? You've got twigs knotted in your hair. Mummy’s going to throw a fit.”

“She pushed me before. In the dirt so I was all dirty.”

“Earlier, you mean.” Brahms corrects with a sigh as he gets up out of the bath. He resists the urge to sing under his breath, _she certainly won't be able to push you now, little brother_.

Finny nodded, his wet curls bouncing. 

“Finny,” Brahms said softly, holding out a towel for his brother. The youngest Heelshire child clambers out slowly out and allows his brother to envelope him in a fluffy bath towel. Finny recognises it as one of mummy’s special towels. “Whatever mummy and daddy ask -- it was an _accident_.”

And almost like it was on cue and a director somewhere had signaled a group of actors, a shrill scream echoed across the estate.

 

Brahms had discovered all of the Heelshire secret passages a long time ago with his father after a terrible winter and an equally terrible infestation of rats. They had kept coming in and they couldn't find the source. It wasn't until they had call a professional over did they discover the vast hidden connections throughout the mansion. It had taken a long time to patch all the holes and openings in the hidden passages and after it was completed, it became a tool of spying for Brahms. And of course was he forbidden from entering without an adult but he was never one to obey. 

Currently he’s eavesdropping on his father’s conversation, who’s trying to desperately console the little pest’s parents. The mother’s sobs are absolutely grating and Brahms wishes could he would get her to stop making that horrendous noise. _Permanently_.

“My baby! My poor baby!” She brays, clutching madly onto her pearls as if they can somehow protect her from the ongoing horror.

_I wonder if she would look the same as her daughter? Just as ugly and weak. Blonde hair fanned out beneath her and stained with blood. Would she wheeze and struggle for life? Or go after one quick smash? ___

__Brahms fights away his thoughts and strains to hear through the thin wall of his father’s study room._ _

__“We need to call the police.” Pest’s father said urgently l. “Good gracious why can you not understand that? Our daughter's laying in the woods with half a _skull_.”_ _

__The wife collapses into ugly sobs and clutches pitifully onto the lapels of her husband’s evening wear. She's awfully dramatic._ _

__“We don't need to be rash, you're creating an upset amongst my guests..” Brahms’s father said soft voice. Despite his calm attitude Brahms can see the tremble of his father's grasp around his glass of brandy through the slits in the vent. The front of his shirt is damp with nervous sweat._ _

__Of course the girl's father erupts into into a furious trade at this point, demanding to know if his father was in his right mind and that if he had any decency, he would help them. But then the father falls silent, his face drawing in realization. His expression changes once more, into a hideous look of anger. His nostrils flaring like an agitated bull._ _

__“Good lord..it was your son wasn't it? Wasn't it?!”_ _

__“He’s just a little boy. Now there might be a way to settle all of this...”_ _

__“That little boy killed my little girl! You're mad! All of you! May God have mercy on your ruddy soul! I knew nothing good would come from that boy. And you can take your money and piss off!”_ _

__The father sweeps out of the room with his wife in tow, thunderous looks on their faces. Brahms can hear their departure causes a stir amongst confused guests in the rest of house and he feels something akin to pride in his actions._ _

__His father drains the rest of his brandy in one gulp, places his glass onto his cherrywood desk and runs his hands nervously through his thinning hair, horror and disbelief practically etched into his aging face. “Brahms?” He calls out with a dry rasp._ _

__Brahms jerks away from the wall as if he’s been burnt and frowns. How had his father known he was there? He was sure he hadn't made a sound or anything of the like. Had he seen his shadow through the slits in the vent?_ _

__“I know you were listening,” his father continues somberly. “I don't think money can make this one go away. You've..done something extremely bad. Do you understand?”_ _

__Brahms remains silent._ _

__His father huffs, distressed. “Please go to your mother… we’re going to have a talk.”_ _

__He slinks away from the wall and leaves._ _

__

__Mummy was handling the situation better than daddy. Brahms supposes it's because of the many years of being a principal at a private academy._ _

__His father walks feverently back and forth, muttering under his breath. “What are we going to do? What are we going to do?”_ _

__Mummy sighs and messes with Brahms’s curling hair with with a gentle hand. “Darling, you should go get ready for bed. I suppose you could sleep with your brother tonight. It's your birthday after all.”_ _

__Brahms rose a brow at that but settled his mouth into a fine line. Finny and he had been forced to stop sleeping together and their parents rarely allowed them to ever do it again. Brahms just found more peace with his brother than he was alone. He would sleep peacefully, but he doubts he’ll even get that much. He’s silently anticipating the moment an officer comes for him._ _

__“Mary, are you even listening?”_ _

__His mother sighed, handing Brahms his pajamas, she looked older. Tired. “Now go brush your teeth like a good boy.”_ _

__Brahms understood the silent dismal and left. After brushing his teeth and putting on his night things he left for his bedroom and found Finny playing silently with his toys, giggling over the way a car jingled musically and totters off the bed and onto the hardwood floor below. Brahms took the open space beside his brother and watched him play. A fuzzy feeling spread in his chest and he was suddenly struck with the thought of having to leave his brother. He had done a very bad thing._ _

__He won't be allowed to see Finny again._ _

___Ever again._ _ _

___Not going to see Finny no more!_ _ _

___Bad boy, Brahms._ _ _

___What did you expect you little brat?_ _ _

___Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. BAD!_ _ _

__He shakes his head, hands clasping over his ears and he tries muffle his screams of anger. He distantly hears the sound of Finny’s voice, scared and worried, his small hands shaking Brahms’s shoulder._ _

__“Brahms? What's wrong? Does your tummy hurt from too much cake? Do you want me to get mummy? Brahms? _Brahhhmmmmsss_.”_ _

___Brahhhmmmmsss_ _ _

__He’s been a very bad boy.__

 _ _***__

 _ _“Mary, what are we going to do? What I ask!?”_ _

__“Whatever we can, Barney.” Mrs Heelshire said with a heavy sigh. Mr Heelshire was bordering on hysterical and if he carried on she was slightly afraid she would be too. She leaned back across her husband’s study couch and sips from her glass of wine. She could feel a headache slowly forming, just behind her eyes. She rubs thoughtfully and tries to prepare herself mentally on what's to come. She watches her husband pace back and forth, practically creating a rut in the lush carpet. His feet fall heavily with each step._ _

__“He’ll be sent to a facility or _something_.” He sputtered._ _

___Thud._ _ _

__“That won't even be an option.” She calmly said, but there was a lingering doubt. A tiny nudge in her stomach that she wasn't able to offer her son an option out this time._ _

___Thud._ _ _

__“Our pockets aren't that deep my dear,” he snapped. “We've covered for him one too many times -- _spoiled_ him.”_ _

__“Brahms is delicate.”_ _

__Her husband waved her off._ _

___Thud._ _ _

__“You don't think I know that? Always been so delicate. But whatever happened to him before -- at that orphanage it made him mad.”_ _

__“And it's not his fault.”_ _

__“I know it's not! But he’s _looney_ , Mary. He's not a normal child and it's our fault for thinking we could treat him like it.”_ _

___Thud._ _ _

__“So what would you rather have done?” Mrs Heelshire spat venomously, her steely blue eyes flashing. “Leave him in that place to rot? That we should've separated the boys? What, Barney? Tell me. And for heaven’s stop stomping around!”_ _

__Mr Heelshire groaned and stopped pacing, clutching at the sides of his head. “That's thing. I don't know what I would've done differently.”_ _

__They both lapsed into silence for a moment so before Mrs Heelshire spoke once more._ _

__“I've sent the servants home along with guests. I suggest you call up our lawyer, Mr Zackary and tell him the situation. Brahms is still a child, the very least they could do is send him away to a behavioral home for a year or two at most. Despite the circumstances Brahms is also also a child, he wouldn't be convicted of..of..” She voice trailed off near the end, trembling with fear._ _

__“A _murderer?_ ” Mr Heelshire supplied with a dry, humorless laugh._ _

___My son is a murderer_ , She thought sadly. It felt as if someone had taken her heart in her hand and squeezed mercilessly. She laid a hand over her heart and asked God for forgiveness and for her son as well. The landlines in the room rang shrilly and she knew without having to answer who it was. The police. Questioning the crime they had allegedly claimed._ _

__Her husband looks to her with a grim face and takes his wife’s thin, trembling hand and places a tender kiss across her knuckles. “I’ll answer that. Why don't you check on the boys, hmn? I imagine they're still up playing.”_ _

__She nodded her head shakily and stood up with the help her husband. She cast him a long look before she left, closing the study door behind her noiselessly. The hallways were dimmed and dull. It was quiet now with everyone gone. She felt so unbelievably tired._ _

__

__

__Finley watches with tears in his eyes as his older brother rolls continually back and forth across the bed, hands clamped over his ears as if there’s loud noise hurting him. Brahms is muttering a string of nonsense, pleading and begging one moment, screaming and spitting the next. It scares Finley of course but he stays and cries, promising Brahms whatever he wants._ _

__After awhile of promising, trying to console and get a response from his older brother he succeeds. Brahms stops his fit and sits up sluggishly, blinking his eyes tiredly._ _

__“You’ll stay? _Forever_?”_ _

__And being a child just of four, Finley doesn't understand the exact ramifications Brahms expects but the youngest Heelshire child promises happily nonetheless._ _

__“Yes. Forever.”_ _

__Brahms smiles and hugs his little brother._ _


	2. Happy Birthday, Brahmsy 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :')
> 
> I forgot the little girl's name and basically just rewrote everything help me
> 
>  
> 
> Also enjoy the angst (?)

Luka Freeman had always known something was off about the oldest Heelshire child. There was certainly enough rumors surrounding him. Unusual cases of neighborhood pets disappearing and reappearing days later, dead with either their throats cut or skull crushed. Bullying in the schoolyard. A reluctance for friendships. But Freeman was never one to believe pub talk and simply thought it was _just_ a rumor. But seeing the boy in person was something else entirely however. He couldn't exactly name what he was feeling, just that it was simply bad.

He had meet the Heelshires during a recital at Rosewood Academy, where his daughter had twirled and bounded across the stage in her pink leotard and tutu. The Heelshires seemed charming, their youngest son shy but nice and their oldest uncaring. He held disdain in eyes for all the dancers on stage and it made Freeman feel highly uncomfortable. After the recital his daughter drug him and and introduced Mrs Heelshire as Rosewood’s Headmistress. She was older, so much older that Freeman couldn't help but wonder if her children were adopted or not. She was kind and lovely, a figure of elegance at just 53 years old and without and spot of gray hairs yet. Her husband was the silent and strong type however, but he did introduce himself and greeted Freeman’s family nicely. And he didn't see them again or even thought about until his wife mentioned a birthday party.

_“We’re invited? But we’ve only met them a handful of times, that doesn't exactly mean we're friends or something.” He had a said with a confused expression as his wife explained. She had huffed and shook her head, chuckling._

_“Their youngest Finley seems quite lonely and seemed to enjoy the time spent with our daughter. They've played together a few times. And those boys could do with a bit of friends. They have practically no one, the poor dears… can you imagine how boring it must be?” His wife had paused at this moment, her top teeth worrying into her bottom lip. “I've also heard a lot of nasty things from the other ladies in town.”_

_He frowned. “You shouldn't put stock in rumors. I think the Heelshires are fine people, a bit odd, but fine. And you know how it is with others, they can't live their lives out a drop of juicy gossip.”_

_“Maybe..you're right. I shouldn't listen to any rumors.”_

_“Right I am.” He had ended with a smile._

“What do you mean you don't _believe_ us?” Freeman snarled, utterly disgusted that a man of the law would so easily put this off. As if it was a common prank to report a murder.

The officer, fat with graying, thinning hair looked up from a stack of papers he was reading with a weary sigh and replied in a croaky voice, “The Heelshires are good people and we've received a number of false reports about them over the years.”

“Yes!” Freeman snapped, “but this isn't a report! For goodness sake just look at my wife!”

He thrusts his hands wildly over to his wife he sat beside him. She was inconsolable and had cried herself hoarse, still clutching miserably at her pearls. 

“There's been at crime! A _murder!_ Their son killed our daughter! Why would we make up something so horrific? Who would even go to such dramatic lengths?” 

Hot tears pooled in his eyes and he blinked them away furiously.

“I just find it strange is all,” the older man wheezed. “You've come up here to report all of this. How do I know you didn't place a _supposed_ body at the Heelshire’s residence? Why not call if it was so urgent? Hmn.”

Freeman looked at him, open mouthed and completely in shock.

_Good god everyone here is mad! Fucking bonkers!_

“They wouldn't let us contact the authorities, they tried to bribe us! And I hate left my mobile at home and I don't frankly see why that justifies _this._ ”

“That's a heavy allegation, Mr Freeman.” The fat toad croaked.

“Not anywhere else as bad as their spawn killing my child!”

The officer grew red in the face, watery blue eyes bulging and they both descended into a screaming match that shook the building. Freeman wouldn't be surprised if people out in the streets and a few towns over heard them. It finally ended when another officer slammed the fat toad’s office door opening, sending picture frames off the wall with their movement. It was a young black woman with ebony hair tied back into a tight bun. 

“What in the bloody hell is going on in here?” She asked firmly, looking annoyed.

“This fat fuck refuses to help us! He isn't doing his ruddy job!”

Before the other man could respond in turn the young woman called him away. 

“Alan, why don't you let me take care o’ this one? Take a breather or something?”

The toad, or Alan grumbled happily at that and left quicker than Freeman thought he possible. The young woman closed the door behind her with and sigh and took Alan’s seat. She gave Freeman a wary smile and settled her hands on the desk, “Now why don't you tell me what's wrong and I can see if I can help in any way.”

So Freeman relayed his story -- about his daughter’s murder and how the Heelshires had refused to help them. At the very end the young woman looked extremely apprehensive, her body tight and wound. “I am so sorry for the unprofessional way my coworker handled this. We’re suppose to take matters like this seriously.” She opened a drawer and withdrew a pen and and clean sheet of paper. “I'm so sorry but what is your name, sir? Any contact information will be as good too.”

“Luka Freeman. And this is my wife Hannah Freeman. I'm afraid you won't get much out of her at the moment, you see.”

His wife had quieted significantly but remained in a state of shock, seeing without truly seeing. The young officer nodded her head, sending his wife a look of sympathy. After she was finished darting their names and address and phone number down she stood up. “I'm going to alert other officers and have a unit sent out, along with an ambulance. I have to admit though, I'm unsure what our protocol is with having to deal with a child..” 

She looked back to Freeman and his wife with a sad smile. “Why don't you go home? It’s getting rather late. We’ll call you both once the ball gets rolling.” She paused, looking pained before she added. “You won't be getting the body back until it's been seen by our coroners, of course.”

 

_8 hours later_

Freeman was awoken by the sound of his landline ringing by his bedside. He fumbled to turn on his bedside lamp, blinked his eyes tired and plucked the receiver up. “Hello?” He asks.

“This is Officer Deeray, I was the one you talked to at the station.”

Freeman became alert instantly at that. He looked over to his still sleeping wife before answering in a hushed voice.

“Aw, yes, I remember. Has… has there been any updates? What about my daughter's body?”

“We found her. She's currently at the coroner's for examination. Now it'll be quite a while before you retrieve the body as this will be an ongoing investigation.”

Freeman sighs, his eyes prickling with unshed tears. “Thank you, Ms Deeray.” He wet his lips with his tongue, anxiety buzzing in his body. “What happened to their son?”

She sighed on the other end of the phone. “Usually we would bring the suspect in, hold them until a bond is set and then have a trial later.” She exhaled deeply, sounding tired. “But since the suspect is an 8 year old boy, my commanding officers have decided not to bring him in. It's not like an 8 year old boy could flee the country on his own and his parents have been warned if they try to interfere.”

Freeman released a shout of fury, obscenities waiting on the end of his tongue. 

“It’ll be a quick trial, sir.” Ms Deeray explained quickly, trying to remedy the situation. “He’ll likely be admitted to health facility and be closely monitored-”

“ _Monitored?_ That's all the little bugger’s going to get?”

The officer coughed, feeling uncomfortable and unsure what to say next.

“Well?” Freeman demanded.

“He’s just a child himself, what did you expect? A hanging? Now I'm sorry I have go, I call you for any updates. I'm.. I'm sorry, Mr Freeman.”

The call ended and Freeman was left with an unshakeable rage. It took all his will power not to throw the phone across the room. He placed the receiver back onto his nightstand, his hands trembling. He doesn't know how long he had sat there thinking, but startled suddenly when his wife touched me and called his name. The windows were lit with dawn’s light. 

“Luka?” She asked in a raspy voice. “Are you alright?”

Her blue eyes were red rimmed and swollen, her hair an utter mess. He reached out for her and she curled in his embrace, face buried in the crook of his neck.

He coughed. “I won't ever be alright.”

She remained silent, laying against him motionless. They held each other and wondered how they would get through the day.

 

 

 _A day later_

From what the officers told Hannah the case would be quick and swift. It would not be drawn out as they had enough evidence to connect the oldest Heelshire child to the crime. But she couldn't let go of the fact that the little demon would virtually walk free.

_“A year or three at an asylum at most.”_

_“Mentally disturbed.”_

_“I'm sorry I can't do more for you both. This whole thing is complicated.”_

_Complicated. How was it in any way complicated?_

It burned her up inside that her daughter’s killer would lead a semi normal life. She felt conned. _Cheated_ even. There hadn't been a surge of news in town. No one knew a thing about what was going on because of the fact that the little brat was a minor so they couldn't release his name to the press. She's never regretted something so much in her life before. She's in shock that she hadn't picked the child up by the throat and strangled him. But no, she had succumbed to her sadness. She was sick of crying. Sick of doing nothing. She deserved better. Her daughter deserved better. The idea, her plan came to her in the afternoon after a bit of tea. The Heelshires estate was a big sprawling thing, old too. It wouldn't be too much of a surprise if there was an electrical mis-wiring. All she would need was some gas, something to start the fire. Maybe even mess around with the wiring to make it seem more believable. The more she thought on more she came to like it. She made out a mental list of supplies and decided it would be best to strike at night time. 

She exhaled deeply. This was _right_ , wasn't it? Hannah Freeman felt no guilt for what she was planning, in fact she felt joy. More so if other Heelshires just so happened to perish as well. She'd be doing everyone a favor anyway. Nobody liked the stuffy Heelshires. 

_This is right_ , she assured herself

***

Brahms woke up feeling incredibly hot and light headed. At first he thought he was groggy, his brain foggy from sleep. But he was quickly realised that wasn't the case at all. The upper floor of his home was on fire, the live flames eating away at the wood just outside his window. His small body moves on autopilot and he slips down from his bed, bounding across his room to throw open his door. His main priority was to get his brother out safe first. Finny would be confused. It usually took him a great deal to wake up.

There was little to no smoke in the hallways until he reached the very end to where Finny’s room was located. 

_Two fires?_ What were the odds of that?

Brahms threw open his brother's bedroom door and found the room full of black smoke, he pressed his hands against his mouth and coughed, feeling sick already. Finley was asleep in his bed, nestled under the covers with two teddy bears serving as a guards. They certainly weren't doing a very good job. Brahms grasped his brother by his arm and shook wildly, coughing out, “Finny! Get up!”

It took two more shakes for his younger brother to awaken, his dark lashes fluttering before fanning out completely. 

“What...what's going on?”

“We've got to get out, there's a fire, Fin.” Brahms told him. He maneuvered his little brother up and out of the bed, sliding slippers onto his cold little feet. Finley whimpered, clutching desperately to his chest. 

“We've got to go now. Stay close to me okay.”

“What about mummy and daddy? Who's going to get them out?”

“They're adults, they can get out themselves but I need you stay beside me. Okay?”

Finley nodded, dark curls dancing.

Brahms took his brother by his hand and began to led them both out, winding down the curving staircases and almost making it to the backdoor when a feminine cry of outrage startles them. Brahms is thrown backwards, his head swimming and vision dotty. An adult stands above him, it only takes a few seconds to remember who it was.

“Mrs Freeman..” Brahms said softly, backing away.

She took a staggering step forward, looking quite mad.

She brought her leg down, the high heel of her shoe pinching Brahms’s leg and drawing blood.

“You're not going anywhere you little demented bastard!” She snapped. She knelt down wrapping her clammy hands around Brahms’s neck, cutting off his screams. She pressed down with all her body weight, relishing the way he kicked and choked and clawed at her hands.

“How does it feeling?” She demanded with an eerie grin. She released her hold around his neck for a moment to let him speak. “Tell me how it FEELS!”

Brahms sputtered for breath, his lungs aching. He clamped his mouth shut, refusing to answer.

_Don't answer Brahms._

_Don't answer._

He could distantly hear Finley crying, calling out for their parents. The woman slammed his head against the marble floor beneath them and released something akin to a giggle. “You think because you're a child you'll get away with whatever?” She grew angry, slamming him twice before letting go.

_She's going to kill us anyway._

“The silent treatment, huh? You must think you’re a tough little bugger,” her eyes trailed over to the front door where a dark bag lay. Brahms did not recognize it and assumed it was the woman's. He was right several minutes later when she withdrew a can of gasoline. She sat back on top of him, her left hand pinching his face. “Let’s see how tough you are on _fire_.”

Brahms screamed as she poured gas onto his face. It stung enough already and he wonders how much fire on skin could make it any worse. She withdrew a box of matches from her bag, struck it along the side of the box and ignited it.

“This is for my daughter.” She told him.

Brahms closed his eyes, his body going lax in the woman's old. 

He had been a bad boy and bad boys do get punished eventually. He only hopes that she doesn't inflict any harm onto his brother. When she drops the match onto his skin two things happen simultaneously. There's an echoing boom like that of a firecracker and the woman is thrown off his body in a spray of gore. He screams and screams and screams, fingers clawing desperately and his skin to try and soothe the flames eating away at his flesh. He hears voices and something is being draped over his body, patting out the flames.

He allows himself to lose consciousness and to drift off into a black void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did ya enjoy the Brahma burning ??


	3. Through the years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy April Fool's day! 
> 
> Also tws for underage sexual acts, incest, and dubious consent.

_2002_

 

Finley knocked hesitantly on Brahms’s door and waited for a second or more before pressing open the secret door. It swung forward slowly, giving sight to a medium-sized bedroom overflowing with mess. Brahms was never one for cleaning his room and nowadays it was his little brother and mother's job. Finley stepped inside, head ducking down under the entryway to get inside.

“Brahms?” He calls out, sighing at the sight of the room.Absolutely _filthy.._ His fingers were becoming numb from carrying Brahms’s food tray. “Mummy said it's time for dinner and she made you you're favorite.”  
Their mother was in particularly good mood today and made them poached eggs, toast and jam. It wouldn't seem like much but it was a great feat to the Heelshire family as for the majority of their lives they had lived heavily on their kitchen staffs cooking.

There was the sound of light footsteps and Brahms was back in the room, looking dirty and untaken care of. He wore days old clothes stained with food stains and sweat. Finley wrinkled his nose but decided to challenge his brother’s hygiene on another day. Finley smiled and handed the tray out to Brahms who took it with a light and cheerful voice, his hands happily accepting the tray.

“Thank you, Finny.”

 _Ah_ , Finley thought, _today is going to be a “little” Brahms day_.

He noticed Brahms was wearing a new mask. This time it was made of soft, old clothes sewn together and held back with a lace ribbon. He supposes, if Brahms could feel anything at all on his face, that it would've been a soothing texture for him. Brahms smiled and directed Finley into another chair by the desk before dividing his breakfast up into halves, giving his younger brother a much bigger piece than necessary. Finley use to refuse taking Brahms food at first as his brother rarely ate enough, but in his current frame of mind he always became upset and sullen. And if Finley was to be honest, he quite enjoyed _little Brahms_ a lot.

Little Brahms was sweet and innocent, untouched by violence and it felt nice to have a sense of normalcy. They usually sat together and played quietly for hours. It was.. _nice_ and Finley always felt horribly guilty afterwards. He still loved his brother, but he just happened to prefer Little Brahms much more.

Regular Brahms was kind to him, never mean and still very much caring and loving but he was just...cold, detached, and hated mummy and daddy. Brahms fought with them frequently and the fights were steadily rising in number. Just the other day Brahms had lobbed mummy’s favorite vase at the wall. He had been frustrated over their lessons for the day.

“Finny?” Brahms said, startling his brother away from his thoughts.

“Hm? Sorry I wasn't paying attention. Did you say something?” Finley said.

Brahms looks at him silently, assessing him almost it seemed. “You weren't eating. Are you sick?”

Finley shook his head, “No. I was just.. daydreaming. Thinking.”

Brahms giggles, shifting his mask off to the side to feed himself. Finley averted his eyes knowing how uncomfortable Brahms was with just showing the tiniest flash of his face. Once when Finley was was a bit younger he had taken one of Brahms masks, not liking the way his older brother hid himself from the world -- from _him_. Brahms eventually found out he was the culprit behind his missing things and exploded, screaming and yelling himself hoarse. Finley had erupted into tears and Brahms immediately calmed down, trying to stop his younger brother from crying anymore. It was at that moment their parents became aware of what what a hold Finley had over Brahms. Now Finley played something of a mediator between his brother and parents. Whenever his parents wanted something of Brahms -- to either study, pick up after himself or anything else -- they went to Finley and asked him instead.

( _“Why do you always ask me to ask Brahms stuff?” Finley asked as soon as his brother left for his room and was out of earshot. Mummy pursed her lips, perhaps thinking carefully on what to say._

_“He listens to you more, darling. You're quite literally his world and I imagine you’ll always be it.”_

_His father had grunted in agreement with his wife_.)

Finley looked over to Brahms room and sighed at the mess he would have to pick up later. A couple minutes later Brahms finished eating and reset his mask firmly onto his face. “Thank you for bringing me breakfast, Finley.”

Though Finley could not see his brother’s expression he knew the other was happy. _For now._

Finley stood back up, picked the tray and smiled back. “You're welcome, Brahmsy.”

 

_2003_

 

Though mummy knows Brahms could never ever reveal himself back to the public, she still insisted that he have something of an education. He attended most of Finley’s home lessons and very rarely participated. Finley always appreciated his brother's company and help. His older brother almost seemed like a sponge, absorbing every bit of knowledge he came across. But Finley found it rather silly that Brahms always pretended he couldn't understand what mummy was teaching. It didn't matter what the subject was Brahms was almost always complaining and whining, leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the desk. Usually he ended up being sent away after mummy had heated words with him. But today Brahms was unusually quiet, gazing out the window and into the drizzling rain.

Mummy had left the room to get more papers so at the moment they were alone.

“Are you okay, Brahms?” Finley asked, worried.

Brahms looked to him -- today he wore an old Halloween mask of a jack-o-lantern -- and gave an audible sigh from underneath his mask.

“Just bored. I actually miss going out places. Stupid, isn't it?”

Finley didn't know what to say. Though Brahms hardly ever listened to their parents this was always one he abided no matter what. He never left. And he's never made a mention of leaving before either. He had always seemed content here.

“I don't think it's stupid, Brahms.” Finley replied.

“To you,” he said softly. “It's because you're my _brother . It wouldn't matter what I could've said, you'd never think it was dumb anyways.”_

_Finley can't exactly argue with that._

_“It doesn't matter,” his brother continued. “It's not like I could ever go back outside and associate with anyone else besides our private doctor and grocery boy..”_

_Their mother came back in as soon as Brahms had stopped talking. She passed them both clean sheets of paper and made them return to their lesson. Finley stored the information of Brahms’s loneliness away for another day._

 _* * *_

 _It's weeks later and he and mummy are shopping in a next town over for Brahms’s birthday clothes when they come across a most peculiar shop. It's a small shop filled to the brim with porcelain dolls and vast antiques. A plaque overhead states everything is hand crafted. The owner even introduces himself and explains how he got into the unusual business of doll making._

_“My wife had passed some years earlier,” the owner started with a small smile. “Her most prized possessions were her dolls she had inherited from her grandmother, fast forward to another couple of years but this time later, I had broken one of the dolls while moving.”_

_Mummy gave a small noise sympathy._

_“I searched all over to find a doll restorer. Didn't find much of anything until I met the tiniest woman you have ever met. A lot older too but you could tell she knew what she was doing. All of her dolls were practically life like. Raved at me for hours about the state the dolls were in. Showed me the basics of caring for the dolls and how to store them properly, before the year was even over I became invested in it.” The man said with a deep laugh._

_“It became a way of therapy for me.”_

__Therapy…_ _

_It sounded like a good idea. After the man left to go attend to another customer Finley tugged on his mother’s coat sleeve and motioned for her ear. After quietly discussing his idea mummy gave him a funny look but left for the doll maker._

_Another week later Brahms received two gifts from Finley wrapped in red package paper. He opened it to see a book on doll making and porcelain doll parts. They were a thing of beauty, delicate and smooth. They were things to be handled with care, for an artist's hand. He did nor imagine himself or saw himself to be an artist and wondered whay exactly Finny saw looking at him. He had to admit it seemed rather interesting but he knew he was not suited for this type of hobby. But he decided to humor his brother and cracked open the book._

_Several days later the doll Brahms was made and introduced to the family._

 _* * *_

 _ _2004__

_Finley felt he as if he had awoken from a year long dream. Suddenly things were not familiar to him. He saw and noticed things he usually did not notice and it scared him. Along with newfound feelings at seeing his family’s new grocery boy. (Boys in general if he had to be honest. Boys drew him like a bee to a flower.) Their previous one had grown old and passed his job along to his son._

__Malcolm._ _

_Malcolm Larsson’s name rolled across Finley’s tongue comfortably, like it fit there. The other boy came everyday exactly at 8:00am and 8:00pm toting grocery bags and the brightest smile Finley has ever had the luck to see. It didn't help that Malcolm was known notoriously for being friendly and nice. He often brought little trinkets and treats as a surprise for the youngest Heelshire brother. He also greeted Finley happily each time, chattering away as Finley stuttered and blushed, avoiding Malcolm's aqua gaze. (He also talked to Brahms’s doll like a real person!)_

_And of course Brahms _hated_ him._

_“I just don't understand why you don't like Malcolm.” Finley said one day as he was doing the laundry. Brahms sat across him from in a recliner, reading. “He’s really nice. Never rude and I know how much you hate rude people.”_

_Brahms was known for taking guests possessions in the past if he did not like them._

_“He’s a complete tosser,” Brahms responded from behind his book. He turned a page. He continued on,“Acting so cheerful all the time. Who is he fooling?”_

_Finley sighed. “Well I like him.” His cheeks flooded with warmth as soon as the words out of his mouth. Brahms stilled in his seat, closing his book before launching himself at his younger brother. Brahms broad hands gripped painfully around Finley’s cheeks causing the younger male to squeal in pain. Brahms eyes glittered darkly from behind his mask._

_“Do you have a crush on Malcolm, Finny?” Brahms hissed. “Because you are _mine_. In every way possible.”_

_Finley sputtered, tears gathering in his eyes. “I-I know, Brahms. Can you let me go? You're scaring me.”_

_Brahms let his hold go and stood back, his chest heaving._

_“I'm..I'm sorry.” Brahms backed up and left, leaving Finny on the floor hurting physically and emotionally._

_What had caused his brother to act like that?_

_Another thing Finley had to failed to notice was how much his older brother was changing. They were both no longer children, Brahms especially. His older brother was becoming a young man, his frame lithe and tall, his voice rough and deep. Brahms had always been much taller than Finny but now he towered, practically shooting up like a bean sprout over the summer. He spent less time with Finny and became more aggressive whenever there was a mention of Malcolm or when Finley interacted with the other boy._

_Finley was only 14 and had zero experience with other boys his age or around those beside Malcolm and Brahms. He had always been secluded to his family’s estate; he was cut off from outside world in all honesty, his position only slightly better than Brahms._

_(But even then his extreme social awkwardness wouldn't exactly help him at all if he were to meet another boy.)_

_He's read enough novels in his life to get at least an idea on what Brahms was feeling towards Malcolm. Jealously was clearly evident...but exactly what kind?_

_Brahms had always been possessive of Finley but this took on a new level._

_He noticed his brother's lingering gazing during dinner, the way Brahms’s heavy hands trailed across his skin whenever they hugged or were in close proximity. It scared Finley but also… _excited_ him at the same time. He no longer thought about Malcolm during his private times alone but instead his thoughts had shifted over to his brother. His older brother who might also have less than brotherly feelings. It was also so incredibly wrong. So Finley ignored it (for as long as he possibly could)._

__2005_ _

_Brahms took in the sight of his younger brother sleeping on his bed and tried to ignore the warmth of arousal in between his legs. He knows, morally, what he was feeling was not right. He was confused. He did not know if his own feelings of want for his brother came genuinely on their own, or were from a past memory trying to manifest itself._

_He rubbed tiredly at his eyes and looked back to his work. He had repainted his doll’s fading hair would have to finish any repairs tomorrow as it was becoming very late. He looked back to his bed and grinned. His brother looked so content in his bed burrowed underneath his blankets._

_Finny also looked like he belonged there._

_Brahms closed his eyes and a fantasy was created in his mind’s eye._

__Finny panted, his legs and thighs trembling from over-sensitivity as Brahms worked his younger brother to another orgasm. His brown curly hair clung to his forehead with sweat. He parted his cherry red mouth and let out a wanton moan, positively mewling as Brahms sucked a hard bruise onto the side of his neck._ _

__“Just one more, Fin. One more for your big brother, yeah?”_ _

__Finny released a high pitched sob and bucked his hips forward into Brahms’s warm grasp, his cock drooling with precum._ _

__“I can't. I can't. I can't.” Finny wailed, tears slipping from his green eyes. Brahms chuckled against his neck and bit down, increasing the speed of his hand’s movements and without surprise his brother spent into his hand a warm drizzle of pearly cum._ _

__Finny whined pitifully as his little cock harden once more, his teenage refactory period amusing Brahms to no end._ _

_Brahms shook the fantasy away and began to claw himself along his left thigh, hissing. It took several minutes but eventually his erection waned and he joined his brother in bed. He would wait._

 _* * *_

 _Finley woke up in the middle of the night to something warm and solid pressing against his back. It was Brahms. His brother's arms were wrapped around him in a secure embrace and his hips flush against the small of Finley’s back._

_Finley’s cheeks rushes with blood and he suppresses a whimper of embarrassment and thrill. He could _feel_ Brahms pressed against his back. _It_ felt impossibly long and thick, nearly monstrous. Finley buried his face into his pillow and shudders pleasantly as his own penis twitches in interest, rising against the fabric of his boxers._

_He inches himself forward slowly only to cause himself to accidently grind against the bed and his boxers. Pre-ejaculate wets his bottoms and undeniably soaks the sheets he is on top of. Just his slight movement is enough to awake Brahms, he pulls Finley back tight against his chest. He mutters sleepily into his younger brother’s mop of hair._

_“What's got you so worked up, hmn?” Brahms whispers into his ear._

_Finley gasps and tries to buck forward, to escape his brother's grasp. Only Brahms tightens his hold on him and cages him in with his arms. His left arm removes itself from around Finley’s waist and dances along the band of his brother's boxers, causing a breakout of goosebumps there._

_“Maybe you were thinking about Malcolm again, huh?”_

__Again?_ Finley thinks with embarrassment._

_“D-do you make it a habit to catch me with morning wood?” Finley retorts nervously. He’s halfway to telling Brahms to quit it and get off when Brahms barks out a laugh and his cold fingers are plunging into the front of Finley’s pants. Finley yips as Brahms takes hold of his erection and feels along the length, his thumb coming up to rub along his weeping cockhead. Finley trembles at the sensation and almost comes right then and there._

_“Cheeky,” Brahms huffs. “So what were you dreaming about?”_

_“Nothing!” Finley insisted. This was all so terribly wrong. Finley should be pushing Brahms away. But he lays lax into his brother's hold._

_“Liar.” Brahms hisses against his nape. He shoves Finley’s boxers down and frees his brother's erection. Finley even helps wordlessly, lifting his hips up. Brahms flings the boxers to some corner of the room and returns his attention to his brother. Finley quakes as Brahms strokes him and kisses along his neck and back, whispering sweet nothings all the while. But what makes Finley actually come is the bare feeling of Brahms’s own cock coming to nestle in between his arse cheeks. He spurts into his brother's greedy fist and screeches at the feeling of his orgasm. He's blissfully in peace, drifting right back off to sleep as Brahms thrusts lazily against him. It only takes his brother a couple minutes later to follow, spraying himself against Finley’s back and butt._

_Brahms pants out a mantra of praise and kisses Finley’s temple, large hands coming up to thread their fingers through Finley’s curly hair. Finley feels something akin to dread and horror as he finally falls asleep._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh eh so???  
> So do you like it?


	4. Just a Girl From Arkansas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I'm utter astounded by all the feedback I recieved. Some of you guys made me actually cry. (In happiness!)
> 
> I'm sorry I've been gone for so long, I've been battling depression and other personal things.
> 
> PS: this chapter has been edited as of 3/23/17
> 
> Also one of you pointed out skewered time lines and I'm really sorry about that. I have learning disibilities and struggle with basic math sometimes. Anndd one of guys offered your beta services and that would help a lot!
> 
> Also another time skip this chapter, it's finally featuring our girl GRETA WHOOP WHOOP. But I realize I didn't exactly have a date set in time for it so let's just say it's, like, three weeks and spanning until she meets and Brahms and co.
> 
> Another thing ( god how many are those) I've taken a lot of liberty making up crap because I don't exactly remember how Greta even ended in Europe ( and the movie doesn't exactly say anything else besides work) so excuse my bullshitting. I hope you enjoy and I apologize in advance these chapters are shorter.

Greta Evans trailed her fingertips against the smooth wood of what would've been her baby’s crib. She felt the need to touch it one more time, to see it before she took it apart and returned it to the store from where it came. She was getting rid of everything she had collected and bought over the months for the baby. She had no use for it as she wasn't staying here any longer. She had planned and waited for Cole to return to work this morning before gathering up her things; only the essentials were tucked away into her duffel bag: her phone (she’d have to get rid of it at some point and buy a new one), charger and a random assortment of clothes. Now all she needed to do was pack up all the baby things and load them into her car and gather the money from the returns.

She held back her tears and gripped unsteadily at the crib's railing, her fingernails digging grooves into the painted wood; trying to hold back a scream of agony. She hadn't expected it hurt _this_ much. It's a been month since she lost her baby, since she laid in a hospital bed with a broken body and an equally broken mind. She can't believe she had let this festered, that she stayed in a relationship that grew so toxic. Why had it taken her losing her child to finally realise that Cole would not change, that he was no longer the person she had fallen in love with. That he was physically incapable of loving? Well, that’s not true. Cole is capable of love. Love for his family and friends. But her? To him Greta was nothing more than something to own. _To control._

She had stubbornly ignored all the warning signs. The out of control possessiveness that Cole had. The anger, the incredibly short temper. Greta instantly thinks back to the first time Cole had ever hit her. They had been arguing over something. Maybe it was a bill? She can’t really remember much, just that Cole had become incrediably irate and struck her in the mouth with an open fist. Greta had been stunned, too shock to even cry out in pain. Cole had apologized on the spot, tears glimmering in his eyes. She forgave him.

That one little fight had been the catalyst for all the others.

And over a period of time Greta had begun to excuse him.

 _He's just having a bad day_ , she would ~~think~~ justify.

But how many bad days could you have exactly?

She shouldn't have excused his abuse for so long, because of her, because her _weakness_ her child had lost their life. It was her fault. And she also couldn't stay here where in her hometown everyone knew each other and knew everyone's secrets. She couldn't take the sympathetic and pitying looks any longer. She certainly couldn't stay where everyone looked the other way when Cole hit her.

She instantly thought back to her week in the hospital.

 

Greta had a massive bruise right in the center of her swollen but empty stomach. Everytime she moved she ached. She couldn't feel the flutter of her baby’s movement. The baby was gone and she never felt so alone, even though her sister and mother were there she did not find comfort. Thankfully, the hospital denied Cole entrance but she knew sooner or later she would have to face him. Go back home.

“Baby, come home with us.” Her mother and sister's pleading fell on deaf ears. Even if she went home to her parents or sister, Cole would come for her. He always came to collect her after several days, usually toting a pathetic gift and large eyes begging for forgiveness. And if she refused? She shuddered to think what Cole would do to her loved ones.

Greta was pulled back into real time with her stomach churning. This would be best for everyone. She would leave, Cole would undoubtedly come after her, maybe eventually he would get tired of playing cat and mouse, and finally give up on her. Greta swallows back against the bile slowing rising in her throat and crouches down on her knees, getting ready to take apart the crib.

 

She finishes 2 hours later. The car is packed, practically groaning with all the combined weight and all she has left to do is leave. She gets into her car and stares with a longing look at the house she had purchased alongside with Cole. This had been a place of hope. She had dreamed of this being a home for their children, teeming with life and love. (And her credit would be undoubtedly fucked, how was she ever going to pay it off?.)

She turns on the car, shifts it into reverse and begins to pull out of the gravel driveway. A tiny, unreasonable part of herself is screaming at her stay. To not leave. To stay and console her monster of a boyfriend. But as she gets farther and farther away, she feels light. Like air almost. For once there is no bad feelings but good ones. Her heart beats a little faster as she pulls out onto the main road. She looks up to the rear view mirror to see her house get smaller and smaller until it diminishes behind a cluster of oak trees. Gravel becomes smooth asphalt. She smiles to herself, insides twisting up.

 

***

She returns everything that was suppose to be her baby’s and even sells her phone for good measure as well, but not before scribbling down her sister and mother’s phone numbers. She’ll have to stay in touch somehow. And she trusts (or should she rather say hope? Her sister has been known to cave under pressure..) that her mother and sister won’t give away her location for the time being. She buys a new phone from Wal-Mart, a cheap little android the color of a bright cherry. She stalks up on feminine products, too, just for good measure. In all she still has about 400$ left. She also has nest egg in her savings accounts, around 1000$ to 1300$. Once Greta has everything she needs, or wants, she leaves for the town’s only airport. It’s a dingy little space, small and crowded but she blends in effortlessly. No one pays Greta any mind and she enjoys the anonymity.

She heads for the the long, trailing line up to a set of desks and looks over the ongoing flights. She had been to California once and didn’t enjoy it. Canada was out of the question, she simply couldn’t afford it and she wasn’t sure what where the protocols for entering it. All Greta had was her debit card and credit card, I.D, and passport. She sighs and pushes her duffle bag further up on her shoulder and moves forward in the line. She finally gets a destination set in mind after moving behind the person in the very front of the line. A sale was on. She had roots, a long family history connected to the United Kingdom, Britain more specifically. When it’s finally her turn in line she gives the airport employee a shy smile. “I’d like to take a flight to Britain, please.”

 

She’d have to take a total of 3 flights, it would be undoubtedly hell on her but it was worth it. Greta forked over the required 1658.98$ in order for the ticket (it had been a lot more considering she hadn’t booked the flight in advance.). The first flight is the most comfortable, she was seated in the very back, given a window seat and shares an aisle with an elderly black couple. The old woman dots on her and coos compliments which in turn causes Greta to blush and the woman’s husband to erupt in loud laughter. It’s pleasant and she’s reminded somewhat of her family, of her late father and mother’s realtionship. She misses them a bit once their plane touches down in an Los Angeles airport and she has to take another flight. The second one is moderately okay.

She sleeps most of the time, having reoccurring nightmares of Cole and she’s honestly surprised she hadn’t screamed or fought in her sleep. The third flight, is the last and the absolute worst. She shares an aisle this time with a mother and her small, spoiled child who cries all the time in varying degrees of high pitched noises, to making dogs whine to making glass shatter. He kicks at the back of the chair in front of them which causes a big blow out between the mother and the person in front. A migraine builds up behind her eyes and she has to requests strong ibuprofen. She even throws nyquil in for the added benefit. She sleeps again and has no dreams.

Greta’s shaken awaken in what feels like minutes later and is told by a tired flight attendant that they’ve landed in the very heart of Britain, London. She’s groggy and irritable and has to force herself to move. She gets off the plane, waits in baggage claim to get her belongings before hailing for a taxi just outside the airport. Before the driver can even ask where she’d like to head she barks out in a croaky voice for the nearest, cheapest hotel. She’s taken to a shamble of a hotel but sighs happily at the sight, body craving for the feeling of an actual mattress underneath her instead of hard uncomfortable seat she had been sitting and sleeping in for the past 3 hours.

“That’ll be 23.71, luv.”

She hurries to pay him, not even caring that she had overpaid. She gets out, hauls her stuff over her shoulder with a grunt, and heads inside to the hotel. She pays for a room, gets into an elevator and finds her room on the second floor. She enters, closes the door behind her and falls face first onto the bed, groaning in pleasure. The sheets smelled old and dusty but it fells like heaven. She falls asleep in her clothes and shoes, her duffle bag used as a pillow.

 

Greta awakes the next day, still terribly groggy and her neck in a crick. She gets up and heads immediately for the small bathroom inside her room. She strips herself along the way, uncaring of where her clothes land and gets into the shower. The shower stall might be small and short but the water pressure is good and it’s just the perfect temperature. She scrubs her skin until it’s raw, red and puffy. Greta feels cleaner than she ever has before. She gets out ten minutes later, picking at her hair with her left hand. Greta had always sported long hair and she was beginning to think it might be good for a change to have something different. Nothing extravagant, just a trim maybe. She’ll also need need to buy new clothes. She plopped down onto her bed with a heavy sigh and gazed up at the ceiling, not entirely sure what she should even do. Earlier she had a varying ideas on what to do and now, after her shower was taken, she had almost no energy to do anything. Greta turned her neck and looked out of the hotel’s grimy windows. It was drizzling outside. It was almost as if fate was mocking her, the weather thoroughly matching on how she felt inside.

She pulled herself up and walked over to where her suitcase lay in a crumpled mess in the middle of the room. She selected a plain white t-shirt, jeans with holes ripped along the leg from the time Cole had pushed her against the sidewalk, and ugly brown flats. She looked homely and miserable.

Greta dried her hair as best as she could with a towel (how could she forget her hair dryer??) and returned to the bathroom for inspection. Her eyes were rimmed with red and her skin a sickly pale. There was nothing she could do about it at the moment. Greta heaved a sigh and carded her fingers through her hair, grasping at the thick tendrils with anxiety. “C’mon,” she whispered to herself. “You can do this.”

 

Greta stands in the middle of the bustling crowd with happiness bubbling up inside her. Her cheeks were red — it was terribly cold outside — and her fingers ache from the amount of shopping bags she carries. There were odd glances sent her way, raised eyebrows and baffled faces but none of them were pity. It was nice, the anonymity. She was forgetable. Not recognizeable. It was such a wonderful feeling to not have to worry and check over her shoulder every now and then. Cole could not reach. Could not harm her. He could do nothing. She felt her lips ache from the strain of her big smile but she couldn’t be happier. Greta inhaled deeply, her lungs straining, and continued her brisk walk down the street, her burdens significantly lighter.

 

 

Greta is screwed. She had a little more than 80 pounds left and is currently taking resdiency in a small bed-in-breakfast in a small village outside of who know’s where. Her phone can’t get a connection out here but thankfully the village owned a small little internet cafe and payphones for use. (Imagine her surprise to see a living relic of a payphone!) She sends her mom and sister an email, just stating she was fine if they possibly could, put a little money into her bank account. Her mother oblidges without even a second thought while her sister grumbles good naturedly. She has enough money for food and couple of more nights staying at the bed-and-breakfast, but she’s stumped on how she’s going to pay for a ticket back home when she’s done with whatever she’s even doing. (She ran away. Yes. But it wasn’t forever. At least she thinks so?)

Greta finally admits to herself the next day she’ll have to find herself work to get back home. She asks around the little village for under the table work and nearly exhausts herself cleaning clothes and tending to farm animals. (That was easy, really. She had spent most of her childhood on her grandparent’s farm gathering eggs from their chickens and milking their cows.) She gets by, is able to stay a couple more nights but she has to find a better solution. She couldn't stay here. But she also had no means to go anywhere else. She would need a better job. She was good with children, maybe should look online for any jobs.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Greta said to herself with a little, hollow laugh. of seven different stores, her pockets now lighter and her hair shorter. She felt like a completely different person. _Almost._

Greta exhaled a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting the noises and smells of the crowd and busy city life surround her. Everything was normal. She opened her eyes, carded her bangs away from her face with a free hand and hurried down the busy sidewalk, body thrumming with adrenaline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly I have no idea how airports work.  
> So, um, thoughts?
> 
> Also p.s: I made Greta for Arkansas just because that's were I'm from and it's hard imagining a different place for me.


	5. The Job and The Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg guys I am back!
> 
> First and foremost, I am so fricken sorry that I just ghosted on all of ya. I've been going through personal things and I've been trying to get help for my mental illness. It's been tough. I hope you'll forgive me with this new chapter ♥️
> 
>  
> 
> Ps — it's been a bit of a time skip for Greta and you'll get to see the boy's again!

 

 

    Greta comes across the article online during her second week in the little village. It was late into the night and she has nearly given up on looking for work, almost tempted to call her mother to wire her money, when she clicks the next page of the website. Her stomach was a flutter, twisting and moving nervously as she clicked on the article.

She reads it the first time, unmoved and wondering briefly if this was some kind of a secret prank. After rationalizing that there’s no possible way it is Greta rereads the small article again, hardly believing her luck.

An older couple was looking for a temporary live-in nanny for two weeks. There was two children to take care of. But for some odd reason their ages weren’t listed. Greta chalked it up to the elder couple being forgetful. There was a picture of the parents in the article and Greta had let out a low whistle at the sight of them. They had certainly waited an awfully long to have children it seemed. Greta’s eyes scanned down to the bottom where the Heelshire’s phone number was located, she patted her pockets down until she found a scrap piece of paper and a pen, and wrote the number down. She just hoped that the job wasn’t taken yet. Greta sighs, leans back in her seat and groans at the way her spine pops. She had been sitting here for over two hours, bone-tired, but dutifully looking for work. Finding this babysitting job was practically a god-send. Every job listing so far required some type of legal documentation that Greta didn’t have.

  As she gathered up her things from her spot in the little internet cafe she began to prepare herself for when she would call the Heelshires. Greta yawned, blinking back sleepy tears before glancing up to the cafe’s sole clock. 11:43 pm. Maybe she could give them a call tomorrow morning when she was less tired. Greta bid the cafe’s owner a good-bye and left.

 

 

 

***

 

 

  
     Greta felt significantly better now that she had rested and slept for more than two hours. She got up, brushed her teeth, bathed, styled her hair and clothed herself. She felt a little silly getting dressed up. It’s not like the Heelshire’s would be seeing her in person. It was a phone interview. But it made Greta feel better and more professional. She cleaned up her little room and packed her things away before leaving the bed-in-breakfast, heading to cafe to use one of their payphones.

    There wasn’t a whole lot of people when she entered and they were all too consumed on whatever they were doing on the computers in front of them to pay her any mind. One of the cafe’s employees, a mousy looking brunette with crooked teeth, greeted her shyly. Greta smiled back at the girl and waved before making her way to the payphones in the back.

Greta extracted her wallet from her back pocket, withdrew a handful of coins and placed them within the payphones coin slot. She typed in the Heelshire’s phone number (She memorized it from yesterday. She had gone over the interview in her head so many times that their phone number was practically ingrained in her skull..) and patiently waited. She shifted from foot to foot, growing nervously as the phone rung and rung and rung…

“Hello?”

An older man answered, and if Greta assumed correctly, this was Mr. Heelshire. She wet her lips before speaking.

“Um, I’m calling in regards to your article?”

Silence.

“Uh… the babysitting ad?”

The man released a surprised huff of air on the phone. “Oh yes, I’m terribly sorry! Forgive me, it entirely slipped my mind.” There was a sound of movement on the other end of the line. Something shuffling. Papers? Feet? He coughed on the other end and asked in what sounded like a flustered voice, “What is your name Miss…?”

“My name is Greta Evans.”

“Ah Ms. Evans,” the man paused for a moment and Greta was worried for a second that he had hung up. “My wife and I are very happy you answered our article, we had received no responses and were just about to take it down.”

Greta gave a nervous laugh, “well it’s good thing I found it, right?”

Mr. Heelshire gave a laugh of his own, sounding equally as strained and small. “Indeed. So when do you think you can come within this week? My wife would like to leave early; the traffic is going to be terrible where we are heading….”

Greta swore when she nearly dropped the phone in shock. Exactly what kind of phone interview was this, and was she just hired? That easily? She waited and listened to Mr. Heelshire, waiting for any possible question about herself but none came. Maybe this was a bad idea she thought to herself...

“Miss Evans?” Mr. Heelshire asked, sounding worried.

“I’m sorry,” Greta replied quickly. She sighed. “I don’t… I don’t know if I’m particularly what you’re looking for.”

“Might I ask why?”

Greta paused, thinking of something to say.

“It’s just I don’t have a way to come to you.” There! That was a perfectly good excuse. She remembered the address and knew she wouldn’t have enough to money to get a cab there.

“Oh, my dear, that can be easily fixed,” Mr. Heelshire laughed, sounding tickled.

Greta frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“I can pay for your ride; however you get here my wife and I can take care of it.”

“I don’t know…” Greta whispered out.

Mr. Heelshire sighed over the phone, sounding tired and troubled and Greta’s heart clenched tightly in her chest. “Ms. Evans, please, we can make any accommodations you need.” His voice trailed off, waiting and Greta released a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. What an odd man. What an odd job interview. Never in her life had she ever been practically begged to take a job before. Greta pressed the heel of right hand against her forehead, closing her eyes.

Everything about this screamed some kind of scam. But the emotion in this man’s voice spoke differently. He sounded desperate. Greta heaved out a sigh. “Okay.” She told him.

 

 

  
***

 

 

  
     Brahms was furious when he found out about their mummy and daddy’s plans. He nearly destroyed the living room in his bout of anger until Finley calmed him down with a soft chastising voice. Once Brahms had been put into ‘time out’ in his room so to speak, Finley tasked himself with facing his mother while his father left to gather a bit of liquid courage in his study.

He glared at her ankles, to anxious to really look head on at his mother as he asked in trembling voice. “Did you really go and hire a.. _guardian_ for us while you and father leave for a holiday?”

His mother pursed her lips and reached out to grasp Finley in what would’ve been a comforting gesture, but stopped remembering her son’s aversion to physical contact with others…

Besides Brahms, she thought bitterly and pained.

“I know you’re upset,” she began carefully. Finley let out a snort, head ducking further down in a meekly manner. “Try _pissed off_.” was his dry reply.

“Finley.”

“Sorry. But mum, this is crazy. Brahms and I don’t need a sitter. We’re perfectly capable!”

If he had been looking up he would’ve seen the brief look of amusement pass over his mother’s face.

“Do you really think that?” she asked softly. This time she took his hand in her’s, her thumb swiping over across his knuckles. “Finny, you can barely go outside without descending into a panic. Brahms can’t ever go outside. Ever. And you can’t rely on Malcolm fully. Daddy and I have been looking for a special person to trust our children to. For another person for you both to love when Daddy and I are gone.”

“But you’re only going on a two week holiday! You won’t be gone long!” he whined, tears gathering ashamedly behind his glasses. He reached up and brushed them away with the sleeve of his sweater.

“Exactly,” his mother said with a tiny sad smile. “That’s an awfully long time and Malcolm, though bless him and his family, only come every Friday to bring groceries. What if you needed personal things? Books, games and clothes? A sitter could do that and more.”

Now he that he thought about it, it sounded perfectly reasonable..

“But there’s always Amazon and eBay! They deliver personally!”

His mother sighed, realizing she wouldn’t be making and real leeway. She drew her hand away.

“We won’t be changing our mind about this. Mummy and daddy needs this, do you understand?”

Finley nodded, heart dropping. Sometimes he wished he was a bit more like Brahms, that he could say what he meant without becoming an anxious mess. Brahms was blunt, much more open on what he was thinking. He turned to leave his mother’s room but stopped at his mother’s call.

“We’re doing this because we love you. You know that right?”

Finley frowned, whispered that he loved her back and left.

 

  
   Brahms was waiting for him in his room. Finley, though extremely wary about Brahms’s silent gaze, felt a little amused. Brahms dwarfed Finley’s bed and if he were to sit at the very edge the bed would’ve flipped over. Finely stopped in the entryway of his room and flipped on the light switch, snickering a bit at the flinch Brahms gives at the bright light. Brahms detested being exposed to light when he wasn’t ready.

“What're you doing in the dark for?” Finley asks, his voice soft.

Though Brahms is wearing a mask, Finley can detect his older brother’s surliness and the minute frown and shift of facial muscles. His older brother’s shoulders tense, arms shifting in front hum to cross and strain with barely concealed rage.

“So? Did you convince her?”

Finely shook his head and Brahms eyes turned molten hot.

“I couldn't,” Finley mumbles, the nape his neck burned in embarrassment. He should've let Brahms dealt with their mother. Finley wasn't any good when dealing with conflicts. “She made some interesting points, Brahmsy...”

Using his childhood nickname for his older brother did wonders. Brahms physically relaxed, shoulders slumping at the soft whisper. Brahms was still upset, however.

“Damn you, Finny. Do you want them to lord over us for the rest of our lives?”

Finley crossed the threshold to his bed and seated himself in Brahms’s lap, his forehead coming to lay against his older brother’s collar bones. “They're our parents, Brahms.” he whispered, swallowing against the emotion rising in his throat.

Brahms gave a hollow laugh, arms coming to press Finley closer against him. “Your’s. Not mine’s.”

Finley exhaled heavily and closed his eyes, his heart heavy. A couple of years ago their parents had caught them in a compromising position and what followed was the biggest row the Heelshire estate had ever seen. Their father had but verbally disowned Brahms in his fit of rage and horror, too caught up in emotions to realize that he had severed what little connection he has to his oldest son. Brahms had gone eerily silent and Finley knows that if he hadn’t been there, hadn’t pleaded, that Brahms could've easily killed their father, no matter if their mother had been there. Any time their father tried to apologize after was met with cold and stern rebuffs by Brahms. Brahms never forgave or forgot. Their father merely drank more, too exhausted and too stressed by everything. Their mother was cordial but kept a somewhat close relationship with her youngest, determined to hold onto something.

“They're your parents too,” Finley whispered against his chest.

Brahms shook his head and grunted. “No. No they're not. I don’t need them, and I would kill them if you'd let me.”

Finley startled, gazing up to look at his brother with a horrified expression. “Brahms!”

“Don’t look at me like that. They hold us prisoner here. And if they were gone I’d take you and leave this dreaded place. I only need you, understand?” Brahms grasped Finley neck in a gentle hold. Brahms used his other hand to shift his mask off and Finley closed his eyes, knowing that Brahms hated being looked at. Finley felt hard lips pressed against his and whimpered.

 _I only need you_ echoed in Finley’s ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :0? Well how was it? Also the chapter's current title is a bit up in the air at the moment, I can't think up of a good title.

**Author's Note:**

> I have 11k words already written up someone send help what am i doing with my life


End file.
